Chapter 222
[ 505 words ]
Chapter 222:
He walked out of the tent and broke into a dead sprint toward the airstrip, where a massive C-17 military transport plane was idling on the tarmac.
Ten minutes later, the massive jet engines screamed, tearing a hole in the night sky as the plane banked hard to the west. For the next fourteen agonizing hours of the transcontinental flight, Jarrod did not move, did not eat, and did not sleep. The agonizing passage of time felt like glass grinding against his nerves as the C-17 crawled across the globe. Inside the dark, freezing cargo hold, Jarrod sat strapped into a jump seat, staring at the metal wall opposite him. His jaw was clenched so tight the muscles twitched. His hands were curled into fists, his left knuckles completely white, his right hand resting still against his thigh.
His possessive obsession had completely overridden his military discipline. Someone had tried to touch what was his. And he was going to kill them.
Night had fallen over Washington, D.C., the city lights glittering like a field of scattered diamonds below. A thick, cold mist rolled off the Potomac River, blanketing the sprawling lawns of the Romero estate.
The silence of the evening was violently shattered by the screaming roar of a massive, supercharged engine.
A black, fully armored SUV came tearing down the private access road at eighty miles per hour. It didn’t slow down as it approached the estate’s massive wrought-iron front gates.
The security guards in the gatehouse jumped out of their chairs, grabbing their rifles. But before they could hit the emergency barricade button, the SUV slammed directly into the center of the metal gates.
The impact was deafening. The heavy iron hinges shrieked and snapped. The gates were blown violently inward, crashing into the cobblestones as the two-ton armored beast crushed forward beneath its tires.
𝖱𝗲𝘢d 𝘄і𝘁𝘩𝘰u𝘁 𝗂𝗻𝘁𝗲r𝘳u𝗉𝘁𝗶𝘰𝗇ѕ 𝗼𝗻 𝘨𝗮l𝗻𝘰𝗏e𝗹𝘴.co𝗺
The SUV drifted wildly around the circular driveway, tires smoking and screaming against the pavement, before slamming on the brakes directly at the base of the main stone steps.
Before the vehicle even fully settled on its suspension, Jarrod shoved the heavy armored door open and vaulted out into the freezing mist.
He looked like a demon dragged straight out of a war zone. He was still wearing his black combat pants and a tight, sweat-stained tactical T-shirt. The heavy leather shoulder holster strapped across his chest held a massive, loaded sidearm. He smelled of jet fuel, dried sweat, and the sharp, metallic tang of gunpowder.
His eyes were bloodshot, surrounded by deep, bruised shadows from seventy-two hours of zero sleep. His jaw was locked in a state of absolute, murderous rage.
He took the stone steps three at a time, moving with terrifying, predatory speed. He hit the heavy oak front doors with his shoulder, blasting them open, and stormed into the grand foyer.
General Augustus Romero was waiting for him.
The General stood at the base of the grand marble staircase, blocking the path. He was fully dressed in a tailored suit, leaning heavily on his silver-eagle cane. His face was dark with fury.
BANG.
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